


from December to August

by Morie_mordant



Category: Free!
Genre: Comfort, Feels, M/M, haru struggles to find his place in the world, iwatobi is a resort town, not that haru wants to escape, rin just breaks in, small small town, there's no escape, they associate each other with seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morie_mordant/pseuds/Morie_mordant
Summary: They folded the blanket, trying to shake the wet sand off, and for some time they did not talk, listening to the quiet wash of the waves, to the rustle of the sand beneath their feet, to the creak of sneakers, as they climbed the stairs.





	from December to August

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hinadoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinadoria/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Maki! I'm so sorry for the late upload, but I hope you'll like it.

In the beginning of December, two young men, hidden from the view of an occasional passer-by, sat on a blanket, the corners pressed down by heavy backpacks, on the beach of a small coastal town Iwatobi.

Every winter Iwatobi was becoming a little ghost town, like any other resort town. Picturesque narrow and curvy streets were empty when artists cleaned their stands with watercolor landscapes, caricatures of celebrities and tourists, and postcards. The souvenir shops hid fake-gold and carved wooden figurines in boxes, so they were not just collecting dust on the shelves. Five-story buildings on the outskirts were emptying out, because no one was renting an apartment, while small villas by the beach were standing like forgotten exhibits in the museum's closet, with hollow black windows, electricity and water supply piped off, a canopy covered with tarp to protect from leaks of long winter rains and tramps that try to sneak in to spend the night. The sand seemed gray beneath the cloudy sky, and only a few brave men were walking around the embankment, wrapped from head to foot. Damp northern wind could find the smallest gaps – dare to go out without the scarf or do not zip up jacket and you’re doomed.

From the quay down to the sea, a staircase of wide concrete slabs was descending, edged with rocks, huge, faded and cracked under the sun and wind. At the bottom stood a crooked feeble foot sprinkler. Nonsense, of course. While climbing up the stairs, again one would end up with a shoe full of sand.

During the summer season, local people worked or escaped somewhere amidst the wild beaches and bays, away from the quay, crowded with beggars, thieves, and tourists. Yet in winter this place was always deserted, and since school days they stopped here, open to the winds and cold, and heavy salty air, that clamped their hair and salted their lips. There was a distant smell of fish and seaweed, from the market down the road. Haru used to accompany his mother to that market, she would squint, examining the mackerel, and he would look those fish in the eye, black and blank.

For some reason, he has never gone there without his mother. Instead, he went to the little store closer to his house, not that it was objectively better or worse. Sometimes Makoto would bring him groceries, but Haru had no way of knowing where he bought that, and he did not care enough to ask.

They sat leaning on their backpacks, watching the smooth dark surface stretched towards the horizon, occasionally disturbed by tiny ripples.  
Rin was glancing at Haru sometimes from the corner of his eye, maybe a bit jealous of how Haru’s unperturbed beauty matched the calm melancholy of Iwatobi. His skin that was almost translucent, all colors washed out by the gleaming waters of the swimming pool; his short black hair twisting underwater like some kind of wicked kelp; his face of sharp features, crinkle between brows, pointed chin, bony fingers and eyes of the palest blue. The high winter sky, pierced by a single cold sunbeam.

They were both pathetically poetic, yet Rin was just a tad more vocal about his thoughts.

Haru pulled the puffer coat over his knees and wrapped his scarf around his mouth so that only his reddened nose and the tips of his worn-out sneakers were sticking out. Rin snorted: like a neglected street kid, this punk was still wearing the same sneakers he did back when he was sixteen. Those were good shoes, sure, and the soles were still intact, but the thing was that Haru could have afforded five or ten pairs of new ones, he was just being difficult. Same swimming trunks, same sneakers, same hat with threads sticking out.

“You’re coming by tonight, right? Gou would be happy to see you, you know.”

Haru murmured something in reply, but it got muffled by the thick scarf. He was not bothered by being alone at the house, and then guys would often show up anyway. Nagisa would finish all his food for the week and would not even attempt to be subtle, nonchalantly dropping his sleeping bag in the living room. To be honest, Haru did not mind. It was nice.

It was a bit too early for them to be around, though, with the end of the semester and the middle of finals. Rin and Haru earned a small break after a competition, and they were chosen to be in the national team, and it meant that for the first time they were on the same team, and they’re off in a couple of weeks. It went without saying to board the train and find themselves on the Iwatobi station on a chilly morning. The station is a bit of a strong word; there was a stand with the name, a bench and a little pastry shop nearby.

They ended up on the beach, and Haru thought that he should have first gone to his house to turn on the heating. By the time he would come back, it would be nice and warm. His parents were in Korea, but they promised to come around for Christmas. Before their arrival, Haru had all the time in the world to himself. Constant traveling and locker rooms, and shared showers, and double motel rooms – it was tiring. Rin did not seem affected; he raveled in socializing, team-bonding, interviews.

They folded the blanket, trying to shake the wet sand off, and for some time they did not talk, listening to the quiet wash of the waves, to the rustle of the sand beneath their feet, to the creak of sneakers, as they climbed the stairs. Rin grinned and let out a loud ciao and shoved his shoulder, urging him to come to the dinner at their house. Haru waved him off, thinking about nothing – everything – and promptly realized at his doorstep that there was nothing to eat. On some bizarre whim, after dropping off his belongings, he got his wallet and rushed back outside. Not to the nearby store, a small pink building wedged between a used-items store, money from sales of which go to cancer research, and a building that was filmed either by the business school or by a local religious cult. On the door, the inscriptions were duplicated in English, although no one from staff spoke any of it. Haru passed it, heading down to the market. In summer the town turned into a lazy beehive of charred sweaty bodies in colorful shirts and straw sunhats, and the market turned into another attraction, red and golden paper lanterns, stalls with games, souvenirs, glass decorations and street food.

Now it was dead. No stalls, no music, no people. He just stood there, trying to remember the feel of his mother’s hand, the push of the crowd, the color of Rin’s yukata.

They had not talked much, both so busy, changing locations and phone numbers. Then they met at those trials, and Rin immediately went for a hug, and Haru somehow realized he was so so tired. Before he could remember that hugging back is a thing, Rin withdrew, and like a fool, Haru almost chased after him – next moment they were surrounded by people, who were for some reason amazed that they knew each other. Unabashedly, Rin blurted out that obviously Nanase Haruka was secretly his biggest fan, and everyone laughed.

Somehow afterward they never parted.

Haru came back home yet again without any food. He briefly considered delivery, but then decided to just go to sleep earlier.

Then the doorbell rang, and he knew who it was, and he stumbled at the door, the hand not quite touching the knob.

Who was he kidding? He always opened that door, and he always let him in, and followed him, run after him. All the teenage angst and ‘I wanna swim with you’s and knowing looks shared before races.

Rin was everywhere and everything and Haru let him shrug and complain about inside being even more freezing than outside, and put the food on the table, berating him for breaking Gou’s heart by being a freaky hermit.

*

At the end of August, two young men sat on a small balcony of a cheap hotel room, drinking Pocari and Coke, in the middle of Tokyo.

Summer was hot and sweaty, and they were both in shorts and tanks, Rin’s hair in a ponytail, he stretched over his plastic chair in a dramatic exhausted pose. Bandages were clinging to their skin, and they were waiting until the conditioner would bring the room to a less scalding temperature.

In two days they had to move: Rin back to Australia, Haru to semi-finals in Europe.

Haru got up, wincing, feeling the dull ache in his muscles. Without command, his fingers reached out and brushed the tanned shoulder, hooking the strap of the tank top.

“Rin,” he said, soft and easy.

Rin smiled with his eyes still closed.


End file.
